Out on the Iceberg
by She-Ninja
Summary: She's kind of a motherly type, what with her cooking and healing and smiling. And he's kind of the badass type, what with the killing and fear-inducing visage. He opens her eyes to a new world of damage and she melts his icy armor... just a little.


_What? I started another one?_

_Yeah. I kinda did._

_And no, I don't own Blizz stuff. If I did... well, I just don't._

* * *

Another swing of her arms had the loaded crate on the top of her stack, albeit precariously. Giving it a stern look, she wasn't going to leave it there long, she turned to her new… home.

"Quaint," she could hear her mother in her head, voice tight with feigned polite compliments, "Very quaint. I suppose it seems roomier from inside? Oh of course it is."

Shaking her head, because mother would never look twice at this abode, she was being generous by envisioning the lady even giving it a moment of her time, she tucked the few stray dark hairs from her face and found the door. Her shaking fingers fitted the small, hard wood token into its assumed place, and she felt the slight magic work, unlocking the entrance. Looking over the seemingly crude trinket with new respect, "Those Tuskarr," her mother had said into her ear, "they know their trade. Dreadfully crude, but they know what they are doing," she tucked it into a pouch and pushed in the now soft leather flap, shivering from the cold.

Inhaling with a hiss, she looked over the first room. The walls and floors were covered in simple cloths and leathers, barring the chill from the ice beyond. She was surprised to see wooden chairs and other furniture- she had imagined that they would merely carve necessities from the ice itself. Foolish, she told herself. Of course they knew how to make tables and the like- they were sentient and surprisingly intelligent.

Her hands skimmed over the polished wood, admiring the craftsmanship, fingers rubbing the cold material. Looking up, she realize there was little else in the room, but for a chair, a smaller table and a medium sized chest. There was another door, and as she moved to it she caught sight of a staircase. It spiraled down a fair ways, and she blinked at it as she moved aside the next flap.

A few boxes and shelves occupied this small room. She found jars of wax, oil for a light, and other materials, and on the shelves were a few bricks of tea, alongside a kettle that looked older than her father.

Already making out a list of necessities, she took the stairs, also covered with furs and cloth, and found herself in a much larger room. It appealed to her more- she could still see with the bluish light that filtered through the hard ice, and found an oil lamp on top of a dresser. After a minute of struggling with her firestarter, the wick caught and she turned around to examine the room.

An armor rack stood to her right, beyond which was yet another doorway, and across from her the stairwell continued down with a door on either side of it. Along the wall to her left was a warm looking couch, its leather worn. She took the first door past the couch and found a small seat carved from ice with a hole in it that dropped into darkness. She pondered whether it was a garbage or body waste container until she saw the whale bone jutting from the wall.

Body waste, she decided, but the rest of the tiny room was bare. Where to bathe?

Shaking her head, she moved to the doorway just right of the stairs.

Her heart leapt to her throat. Here was the kitchen. There was a fireplace on the wall to her right and an oven beyond that, and counters ran along the wall, carved from the ice but covered in stone. A table was shoved against the wall to her left, and a lonely chair graced its side.

"Well," she whispered to herself, "It isn't like anything in Dalaran, but it'll do."

Reaching the last room, she smiled. It was a small bedroom, with an odd shaped bed seemingly slipping from the wall. It was well stocked with anything that might keep her warm and padded with feathers. The fireplace from the kitchen opened into here as well, providing warmth in the night.

There was one more floor, and she was forced to take her lamp along as she descended into darkness.

Her teeth chattered together when she stepped from the staircase, and she pressed her free arm to herself to try to retain heat. Peering into the gloom, she quickly labeled this room the freezer and took the stairs back up to the top floor, suddenly remembering her crates.

The top box had, sure enough, fallen over, spilling its contents across the snow.

"Light bless it!" she cried, running to scoop up the small jars and packets of herbs and spices. The wind picked up and she shivered again, biting her lip to keep her teeth from chattering.

"Lady's don't show their weakness," her mother scolded her when she had shown sensitivity to cold before, "We must be strong at all times. People take advantage if they believe you are weak."

So she told herself that she wasn't cold, because being cold meant she was weak.

And Zenaida could not afford to be weak in this harsh new home. Northrend would no doubt chew her up and spit her out if she could not keep her chin up, with or without help of the kind Tuskarr.

* * *

He was crouching by the side of the path, watching the old walrus man shuffle about in his warmed home. Occasionally the short Tuskarr would look over at him, but would quickly mumble something and go back to arranging things, clicking his tusks against his beaded necklace.

"Injuquaq, are you sure that-"

"Yes, yes yes yes," the walrus man interrupted, eying the troll, "I cannot help you anymore, son. The spirits don't know you- which means there is nothing more I can do."

Bowing his head, the troll sighed, touching his face lightly. Injuquaq cringed.

"Thank you," he finally muttered, and walked out into the harbor.

The old wise man watched him go, eyes sad. "I am sorry."

There was not much left for him to do. He paused by the water, gazing at his warped reflection. This image of him was far better reality- he could almost assume that the glow from his eyes was a play of light off the water. His tusks were strong and healthy, his skin tough and his muscles well.

But then, his curse surged in him, and he could not pretend as the light pulsed all over his body. He could hardly feel it, but the thin lines of blue were hard to ignore

Hearing movement behind him, he turned and caught sight of the fisherman, Tupit, watching him wearily.

Pulling his helmet on, the troll nodded at the villager.

"Perhaps you should take a break, fighter," Tupit suddenly said, and shifted his weight. "We are made nervous by your presence- some time to yourself might be good."

Blinking, the troll looked away. Maybe the short one was right. He could use some time away from prying eyes.

"Thanks," he finally said, and turned to go see Mystic Tomkin. He had heard from Injuquaq that since Kaskala was reclaimed, they had been making homes along the coast out of anything from caves to icebergs.

"Icebergs," he muttered to himself as he entered the chieftain's hut, "What will they think of next."

* * *

"Just be careful, Zene. I didn't send you there to turn into an icicle," the voice said raggedly.

"Oh it's not all that bad," she quickly replied, kneading her hands on the blanket in her lap. What if he said something to mother? "I'm quite prepared for the cold- tell mother that she needn't send any more blankets, thank you." Inside she mourned the sacrifice, but it would be worth it if it meant mother didn't raise a fuss.

With a sigh, he rumbled, "I didn't mean just the cold. There are all sorts of dangers out there on that ice, Zene my dear. I would hate to think if anything befell you…"

She smiled, though it was forced, "Don't worry. I'll be back before you even begin to miss me, or my feasts!"

He grumbled some response before being called away. She closed her palm over the crystal she had been speaking to, ending their conversation with a quiver of her lips.

She did miss him.

Shaking her head, she stood, grabbing her robes. First thing was first, she decided, pulling the hood over her pointed ears and black hair, she needed to make bandages. During the flurry of her packing, she had unfortunately forgotten one of the most important things she would need.

Pulling her staff from a corner, she tapped the ground a few times, eyeing the crystal at its top. It probably needed replacing, she mused to herself, and wondered at the Tuskarr's selection of gems available.

The first bite of cold wind was the worst, she decided, locking her door behind herself. Flicking her robes out to clear her legs, she began the short walk to town, watching her feet for stability in the lumpy snow.

It wasn't that she was terribly clumsy anymore. Mother had forced that right out. But snow did not agree with her balance, nor did ice. Or sand. Or loose dirt.

She wasn't klutzy. She just really had to watch her feet. Agility was not her specialty. While her sisters would be out leaping across river rocks and climbing trees, she much preferred to sitting on her mother's patio, enjoying some tea and reading a good book about flowers.

Yes, her mother's tea, and her flower garden. She missed the warm breezes of Eversong.

As her mind wandered, her attention waned, until she took the unavoidable misstep of the day and fell tumbling down the small incline.

Inwardly she sighed, but her voice squeaked and she tried unsuccessfully to tuck her limbs in. She felt her wrist scrap on a jutting rock and she cried out, trying to slow herself with her spare hand, but it seemed the hill was endless.

* * *

Mystic Tomkin had gladly given him a key to one of the new homes, and offered him directions eagerly. Disheartened, he slowly wound up the path that left town, staring at the ocean beside him.

Perhaps he should simply leave, he thought sullenly. He was hardly useful without someone to aid him. Alone, he could perform simple tasks, but he had been alone so long there were few of those left. And it wasn't as if anything was keeping him here, aside from the strange sense that told him that he was waiting for something.

He rounded a bend in the path, and frowned. Maybe he should have taken the upper road. The ground before him was mushy, and the ocean lapped against its edge. He'd forgotten about the tides. However, about to turn back the way he came, a figure appeared out of nowhere, squeaking and grunting as it descended the lumpy hillside that he suspected led to the higher road.

Fully willing to watch the figure, clad in white furs with a staff following it, he realized the thing, or perhaps person, was on a direct course to land in the ocean.

The very, very cold ocean.

With a low, "Unh!" he darted forward, grabbing a flailing limb just as another smacked into a large rock.

The thing, female, he presumed by the pitch of her cry, wiggled and shivered as he helped right her. When she had her legs beneath her, she dusted herself and kept her face down, lips parted as she panted.

"Thank you, kind sir," she got out, straightening and looking at him. He cringed, but remembered that his helm was on. "I would have surely fallen into the ocean, my most sincere gratitude."

Shuffling awkwardly, he shrugged. "It was nothing."

Her head tilted, and she smiled. "A troll? Out here with the Tuskarr? How pleasant! I was afraid there would only be dwarves out this far, surviving the cold as they do."

At her polite conversation, he blinked. What a strange elf. "Yeah, I've seen a few of them around."

Smiling kindly, she never told her mother how much she loved the Trolls accent for fear of her anger, she blinked up at him. "Have you been here long? I'm afraid I don't know my way around quite yet." His was exquisite, she determined. It was merely a passing flavor on his words, effecting his pronunciation of verbs and little else.

Rolling to his heels, he cocked his head back at her. "I've been here for a while, yeah. What are you looking for?"

"Well, I need to buy some cloth, and perhaps a gem- oh!" she suddenly cried, and began hopping on one leg, "I almost forgot- my ankle, ooh… I almost forgot to give you my name!"

Steadying her, she looked about ready to fall into the ocean after all, he studied the strange elf. Her black hair was tucked back into her hood, her lips rosy in the cold, and eyes bright. He wondered if her cheeks always had that pinkish tint.

Leaning into his arm, she blushed slightly, "Sorry- I mean, thank you, again. My name is Zenaida."

"I am Makrys'Donti," he replied, and helped her to sit on a boulder, "But mostly they call me Skliros."

"Skliros," she repeated softly, and winced when she pulled her boot from her ankle. It was swelling, and her skin was turning a lovely shade of magenta. "I'm sorry to bump into you like this."

"Not a problem. You said you were headed to get some cloth?"

She looked back up at him, nodding. "Yes, I did, and I am." Biting her lip, she dropped her gaze, "Would you mind- I mean could I bother you to-"

Skliros almost groaned. He was about to finally get some time away from the walrus people… but he still found himself interrupting her, saying, "Of course I'll take you there. Should we bandage your ankle first though?"

Her ears perked. "Oh, no, it's only a little sprain…" her hand waved over the bruise, Light swirled through the air, and she grinned. Again. "All better!"

When she stood, he saw her still favoring that leg, and let her lean on him. "You're a priest then?"

"Yes," she said cheerfully, "It's actually partly why I'm here. And why I need some cloth- I forgot all of my bandages back in Dalaran. Oh! My staff!"

She hobbled back to retrieve it, and he waited, thinking to himself again how strange she was. Nothing of her reminded him of the few other elves he had encountered- aloof and scowling, their eyes watching him suspiciously. This one smiled entirely too much.

They reached the town, and she only stumbled once. He caught her instinctively, and set her on her feet gently. She was blushing again, and smiling for the fiftieth time, and he decided she was about as delicate as a porcelain figurine. Which led him to ask

"What again are you doing here?"

Her arms were full of frostweave, along with his. Somewhere between the door and the first crate he became her mule.

"I'm opening a crude hospital, and cooking,"

Zenaida then smiled, _again_, and something about it reminded him of sunshine. Not the sunshine here in the frozen land, but sunshine in the jungle or the mesa's of Mulgore. Probably like the sunshine in Eversong, but he'd never been there in life.

So he let her put a few more stacks of cloth in his arms, ignoring the store keepers open mouth and shocked look.

He started suddenly, realizing she was looking at him expectantly. "Sorry, what?"

"I asked what you were doing here. Most of the trolls I've met here are on business for Thrall."

Skliros's mouth twitched as she ducked her head.

Finally, he shrugged again, as best as he could with stacks of cloth in his arms. "I'm a mercenary. I go kill things that people want killed."

Zenaida looked at him, eyes wide, for a few minutes, and he shifted his weight under her gaze, wondering what chipper thing she'd say to that.

"I suppose everyone has their place," smiling, kind of weakly he noticed, she paid for the cloths and they stepped back out into the cold.

"Gems…" he heard her mutter, but she shook her head. "I'm sorry, I've wasted so much of your time. I'll take those and let you go about your business-"

Shifting them away from her reaching hands, Skliros cocked an eyebrow behind his helmet. "You want me to believe that you can get all of these home by yourself, and without falling over again? Not likely."

She pouted at his gruff tone, and put a hand on her hip. "Surely you have things to be doing, things more important than helping me around town."

"Not really. It's kind of a down season on the killing things."

He saw a smile quirk the corner of her mouth, but the bright red seeping down her arm startled him.

"Uh, Zenaida, your arms bleeding I think."

"Oh goodness!" she cried, and pulled her sleeve away. Her wrist and forearm had a long gash marring the skin, and she whipped a cloth from his arms, fashioning it into a bandage with ease and tying it to the wound.

Having set down his burden, he took her arm gently and looked it over for other injuries. Slight bruising around her elbow made him click his tusk against his helm.

"I don't get hurt very often," she muttered, embarrassed and still trying to get her bandage to stay on her wrist.

"I couldn't tell," he replied, smiling at her and taking the cloth from her hand. With the ease that comes with practice, he tied it off, but held her hand and touched the bruise on her elbow with a thick blue finger. "Are you going to heal these too?"

It was her turn to shrug, but Light flared at the joint and her bruise faded.

"Maybe that's enough shopping for one day," she sighed, and he quickly scooped up her purchases.

"You trust me enough to let me know where your house is?" he asked, sly smile still in place.

Her teeth flashed in response. "Of course!"

* * *

_...What? I have found this new love for trolls, and this one is so outcasted and lovable... well, he's lovable now. Just you wait..._


End file.
